A White Chicken Curry to Soothe, Heal, and Offer Sanctuary for a Hungry Soul
I was at a talk about Tamil food. Tamil rather than just Sri Lankan. Tamil food stretches far across the globe; following waves of migration, slavery voyages, communities that have had to flee war, and communities that have had to survive in war. This, most definitely, will be the subject of another post for another time.
At this talk, I sat behind a lady from Mumbai. She had arrived in the UK for her master’s and is now working as a copy editor for an online tech magazine. Once we’d got past the introductions, what do you do, why are you here, our conversation took a tangent to food.
She’d been back to Mumbai and returned with her suitcase packed with condiments to last her until the next time she could return and refill. I told her about Tooting, with its South Asian restaurants that will take you from the mountains of Pashtun to the southern beaches of Sri Lanka. Our grocery stores with walls of sambols, chutneys, curry pastes, and more. Worth a trip to ease the pangs of homesickness. Let’s face it, Pataks doesn’t quite hit the spot.
Everest Curry King provided the food. This is the Lewisham-based Sri Lankan restaurant made famous by restaurant critic Jay Rayner. There is always reverential murmuring about Everest, especially from those who knew Everest BJR (before Jay Rayner).
I loaded my plate with sticky devilled prawns, sprats (deep-fried anchovies), and a vadai (a deep-fried lentil fritter) or two (perhaps three). The food was, as expected, hot. Punchy for me. The vadais were laced with fresh green chillies, seeds included. All of this was too hot for my newly made friend, who threw back chai after every bite.
Our food has a reputation for being hot. Searingly hot. In my mother’s faded, worn cookbook the Ceylon Daily News’s, patched together with duct tape, is a God-fearing recipe that asks for thirty red chillies. I have yet to make it.
Not all of our curries are cooked to make you break out in a sweat. Though this can be handy in Sri Lanka, as that sweat will eventually cool you down.
This white chicken curry is made with coconut milk, which absorbs the flavour from the spices into its thick, creamy gravy. This is the sort of curry that will soothe, heal, and offer sanctuary for a hungry soul.
The trick to making this curry is the careful layering of the ingredients. This isn’t the sort of curry where you chuck in a spoon of curry powder and hope for the best.
You have to build flavour.
Take time to make sure the base of onions, garlic, and ginger is fried until the edges of the onions start to turn copper, and the garlic takes on a translucent sheen. Allow the curry leaves to sizzle in the oil. The lemongrass and pandan, sometimes called rampe, adds an edge of sweetness.
Pandan is an ingredient that’s broken out of the Eastern kitchens and has been newly discovered by Western cooks. I’ve heard it referred to as the vanilla of the East, even though we use it in our curries. And cinnamon, a prized spice upon which empires have been built.
It’s only then I add the chicken, which has to be rollicked and rolled into the ingredients, and fried to contain its meaty juices.
Lastly, the coconut milk. I use tinned, and please buy the best you can afford, as not all coconut milk is made the same. Pour it into the curry, seal your pot with its lid, and allow the curry to cook itself.
Sri Lankan White Chicken Curry*
Utensils
Large-sided saucepan or pot with a lid, and a small frying pan.
Serve a hungry party of four can stretch to 6
Ingredients
Basic curry powder
2 tsp coriander seeds
2 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp fennel
¼ tsp fenugreek seeds
The curry
2 tbsp coconut oil, 1 tbs for the tempering
2 sprigs of curry leaves (leaves stripped from the stalks)
4 cm piece of pandan leaf
1 piece of lemongrass (outer husk removed) and chopped into 4 pieces
1 large onion chopped
10g ginger peeled and chopped
4 garlic cloves chopped
3 cm stick of cinnamon
4 dried red chillies crushed
¼ tsp turmeric
1.5 kg bone-in chicken thighs and drumsticks (skin removed or left on - up to you)
Salt
400ml coconut milk (good quality milk)
Juice of one lime
Method
Make the curry powder by using a coffee or spice grinder or pestle and mortar blitz the coriander, cumin, fennel, and fenugreek into a coarse curry powder and set aside.
Set aside half the onion, curry leaves, pandan leaves, and lemongrass.
In a large high-sided saucepan (Dutch pot style), on low heat, warm the oil and add the first batch of the onions, pandan leaves, and lemongrass along with the ginger, garlic and the stick of cinnamon. Cook until the onions soften and the edges tinge copper. Now add the curry leaves and chilli and cook for a further two minutes.
Now tip in the basic curry powder and turmeric stir into the onions, and cook for a further two minutes.
Add the chicken and stir into the spices let the meat brown before sprinkling on the salt and pouring in the coconut milk. Cover the saucepan with its lid, make sure there’s a small gap for the steam to escape and allow the gravy to thicken. Cook for around 40 minutes or until, when you prod with a wooden spoon, the meat starts pulling away from the bone.
For the temper gently heat the oil in a small frying pan, add the remaining onion, curry leaves, pandan, and lemongrass, stir, and cook until the onions start to brown at the edges. Tip into the chicken, squeeze in the lime and cook for a further five minutes then serve with rice.
*This recipe has been adapted from the Ceylon Daily News Cookery Book.